Scars
by coldqueen
Summary: AU during Five Years Later. How Peter really got that scar. CESTY PAIRE.


A/N: Set two years in the future, AU from "Five Years Later". How I think Peter got that oh-so-sexy scar.

PAIRE. SMUT. INCEST.

Don't like any of those, don't read this.

* * *

"I don't want to go."

Peter shook his head, "There's no other choice."

"Come with me."

"I'm the reason you need to go."

Neither of them wanted to exercise this option but with President Petrelli's recent crackdown on safehouses for their kind, it was too dangerous to remain together. For the past two years, without any contact with their families, they'd been allowed to live together as they both knew it was meant to be. Blood may be thicker than water, but love is the thickest of all, tying them together forever. Still, for her sake, he was making her go.

"It's not safe here, Claire. I'd die if anything happened to you!" His voice was loud but his words were desperate. She wanted to ignore his plea, to stand at this window and know that he was at her side every day of every year for their lives. He ran his hands down her arms, grasping her wrists and spinning her around. "You'll go because I told you to go."

She glared in his face, his perfect face that she'd memorized in the night and every light of day. "If I go, I won't come back. Ever. I can't take the pain of it, Peter!"

He nodded his head. "I know, but I'd rather have you alive somewhere else than dead with me."

She pulled away, tears coming down her face. "Please don't do this."

Peter has had years to perfect his poker face, but he could never hold it up around her. Rubbing hardened fingers down her soft-as-down cheeks, he was reminded once again of just how much she the light to his darkness.

Do the shadows still exist if there is no light to cast them?

He'd be damned because he was going to have to find out.

She pressed her lips to his and he poured all his love, all his soul into kissing her back. Clothes became nuisances as they clenched in that corner of their apartment. He pressed her to the cheap plaster, pulling away anything that blocked his touch to her skin. She likewise did the same, searching for one last memorable tumble to take with her.

To keep her warm in the night.

To keep her content in her isolation.

To keep her love and her hate alive, because in this moment she felt both for him. He was breaking up what was the best thing in her life, taking away one of the few things that made sense in a world gone mad. With those thoughts tumbling around in her mind, and by extension, his as well, what was to be a gentle reminder of what they had and would lose became a violent struggle.

Violent were the caresses down her skin, bruising in their force, and delightful in their ministrations. Even as she healed them involuntary (Lord help her remember every touch), she could feel them marking her soul. She raked her nails down his back, drawing blood and relishing his groan of pain and pleasure as they combined into one long wail of grief. She'd make him hurt as he was hurting her, and as God as her witness, he'd remember Claire Bennet for the rest of his life.

He yanked her arms above her head, where she could do no damage even as he wrestled with the ties on his pants. In his mind, he knew there'd be no other to touch him like this. Sex was one thing, but with Claire, even when angry, it was always making love. Let their last memory of each other be as turbulent as their relationship, because in the end it was passion that fueled them and kept them together. If it had ever just been love, he could've kept his hands off of her. His niece, his indestructible cheerleader, his Claire. For love, he'd have let her remain pure and innocent and content in it.

It'd been lust that drove him to claim her. Lust and passion and love all in a potent combination that'd robbed him of any choice he might have had.

It was no wonder that it was called one of the Deadly Sins.

She screamed in his ear, driven mad by the teasing sensations of his skin on her's. Finally they were without clothing and straining as if even their skin was a breach to true intimacy to be removed with haste.

Peter released her hands to clamp onto her hips, holding her still as he thrust into her tight warmth. She was always ready for him, no matter the time or place, he had only to touch her to know that she was waiting. Now was no different, and he embraced the hot ambrosia of her without a qualm.

One last time.

To remember.

Even as he began to pump in and out, the echoes of their slamming into the wall echoed through the walls and their apartment. Next door, someone banged on the wall for silence, only to be ignored in the truly blind oblivion of sex.

Claire screamed again, raking her nails down whatever part of him she could come into contact with; his arms, his back, his ass, his face. He healed them all instantly, infuriating her even more. She clamped down on his shoulder with her teeth, biting until the taste of blood mingled with the taste of sweat. Peter gasped and withdrew suddenly flying back so quickly that she fell to the floor with a thump before crawling after him.

On his knees, watching her come after him with a hungry and impatient look in her eyes, he could only grin. "I love you."

She glared and grasped him by his long lanky hair. "I hate you." Her mouth fused to his and he pushed her to the floor, knocking over a side table and breaking several things in the process, not that he noticed.

They tossled for a few minutes, twisting and pushing in each other's arms before he pulled her to her knees and bent her over the coffee table. As a shaky "Peter!" slipped out of her lips, he pushed inside her again but oh-so-slowly this time. She ran her hands over the table, trying to find something to hold onto to but finding nothing. Fisting her hands in her mouth, she bit down to keep from crying.

She could take violence and consummation, but she couldn't take his softness. His gentleness. It would kill her as surely as a knife lodged in her heart.

Still, he moved slowly, in and out in a calming rhythm meant to soothe hurt feelings but only prolonging the pain of dejection. He clenched his fists in her hair, pulling her back to his front and slipping his arms around her stomach to support her. She let her head fall onto his shoulder, sobbing even as he made her climb the trembling ladder to climax.

He whispers soothing words into her ear, still thrusting inside her because he could not stop, not now. He picked up speed, making a small slapping noise as he fucked her now, drowning out her sorrow with his groans and soon she joined him. He cupped her breasts, pulling at her nipples until she covered his hands with her own and tried to pull them away. She could heal, but they'd learned early on that she could very much feel pain in sensitive spots. You just had to do it hard enough.

Their hands entwined and fisted on the edge of the table, which was cutting into her pelvis as Peter thrust harder and faster but she didn't care. She moaned, the ball of nerves in her womb clenching tighter as if being spun around and around.

"Peter!" She gasped as she fell forward, pressing her sweaty forehead to the cool table as she could feel the sudden release inside. She tightened around him, trying to keep him inside her as she came but he was having none of that. He hit her harder and faster, slowly pushing the table across the floor from the force of it. He was close, he knew it, and he pulled her back even as he pushed forward, hitting the end of her cervix and pushing her to threshold of pain/pleasure.

She came screaming in his arms, pushing the table away completely even as she lost all control of her limbs, her only strength remaining focusing on pushing into Peter, into going higher and higher. Peter fisted his hands into the carpet around them and thrust in again, letting the waves of muscles undulating inside her grip him into his own orgasm. He froze in her, then gave a few short pumps and let her milk him dry and limp.

They collapse on the floor together, surrounded by broken glass, discarded clothing, and bits of plaster from the wall.

In the dying light of the moon, she turned to him, breaking the silence. "I'll go."

He nodded. "I'm glad."

"You won't forget me..."

"Never."

She spun on the floor, suddenly straddling him. "That wasn't a question. Say it."

Peter gripped her thighs, realizing the importance of this conversation because it might be their last. "I won't forget you."

Claire picked up a rather wicked looking shard of glass. "Prove it to me."

He didn't need to be a mind-reader to know what she intended, and he didn't care. She could scar him, maim him all she wanted, he didn't care if any other woman ever wanted him again. No one would replace Claire.

As she slid the glass down his face at an angle, he held his own version of Claire's healing powers at bay. He wanted the scar.

He wanted to remember.

She wanted to remember.

She kissed his forehead, tasting the blood and the sweat, and as she kissed her way to his mouth, she tasted tears, though whether they were his or her's she'd never know. She sat up, placing the shard into his hands. He mimicked her movements, sliding the edge of it down her own face. Unlike he, however, she couldn't keep her abilities at bay. It healed within seconds, but the searing pain of it, so reminiscent of their love, remained in her mind and her heart.

She pressed one last kiss to his lips. "I love you, Peter Petrelli."

"I love you, Claire Bennet."

She would never see him again.


End file.
